Sundays Will Never be the Same
by The Profane Angel
Summary: As requested by Elisabeth Carmichael, a story that opens with Claire discovering, along with Jack, that he has a son with Sally Bell. Dark shadings within, an exploration of the human heart and its longings, both noble and ignoble. Rated for safety.


A/N: For Elisabeth Carmichael, in answer to her request. Jack discovers he has a son, dislodging Claire's belief that she is giving him his first and only son. It is set during the Mickey Scott trial, who is represented by Sally Bell. A somewhat dark tale, of the longings of the human heart as well as the rougher emotions - jealousy, anger, fear. Rated for language, to be safe. As always, Law & Order belong to Dick Wolf and NBC. Hope it meets with your approval, Lis! Reviews welcome.

Claire woke late, late by her standards, anyway. It was eight-thirty. Cooler air drifted through the open window, carrying the scent of rain, as a cold front moved out to sea. Lying on her side, facing the open window, Claire debated getting up to close it and then trying to slide back into sleep. I'm awake, she thought, I doubt I'll go back to sleep no matter how long I lie here. She rolled on her back, reaching for Jack. Her hand landed on his bare shoulder, skin cool under her palm. Jack twitched when she touched him, and she removed her hand. It was Sunday morning, their one chance to sleep in, and Claire tried to get out of bed without disturbing him.

She had tied her robe when he opened one eye and looked at her. "What time is it?" he asked, closing his eye as he pulled the covers up and around his shoulders.

"Eight-thirty," she said. "Go back to sleep."

"If you insist," he said, turning on his side, away from the light filtering through the window. "And close that, please. It's freezing in here."

She moved to the window and pushed it down, securing the lock. She looked out, at the thinning clouds, the buildings across the street, the empty sidewalk and absent traffic. A day that actually belongs to us, she thought, a day without phones and bluebacks and constant traffic in and out of Jack's office. A day without a dress code, without Adam's bellowing or sarcasm. She smiled as she left the bedroom, closing the door. A day to play.

She prepped the coffee maker and hit the brew button. While it hissed and gurgled, she brushed her teeth and hair, washed her face. While Jack was used to seeing her with bed head, she didn't like those glimpses to last too long. She smiled at that, yes boys and girls, Claire Kincaid has her vain side. She left the little bathroom and walked back to the kitchen, feeling light and good. She took a mug from the shelf and poured. She loved the first sip of coffee in the morning. It was a small reminder that there were good things in the world, it wasn't all evil. Normal people doing normal things still existed in the city, things like brewing a pot of coffee to share with a lover on a cool Sunday morning.

She ambled into the living room and sat on the couch, drawing her feet under her bottom, then leaning on the armrest with the mug cupped between her hands. She absently observed her hands - she'd often been asked what instrument she played, that she had a musician's hands and fingers. She supposed she did, all those years playing piano to please her mother. Those long, lovely fingers now played on computers and books and legal documents; she frowned as she tried to recall the last time she sat before a keyboard. A squeaking hinge broke her reverie and she looked over her shoulder as Jack came out of the bedroom. He wore his robe, untied, and the view of his beautiful body with the contrasting bleach-white of his shorts sent her into another reverie, one Mother would not find as ladylike as playing classical music. Jack acknowledged her with a slight wave, his other hand acting as a comb in his hair. He poured coffee and joined her on the couch.

"Mmph." He swallowed his first sip of brew, then patted his thigh with his free hand.

She uncurled her legs and put her feet in his lap. He absently massaged them, seemingly focused on the coffee. Five swallows later, he grinned at her and raised his mug. "I gather you approve," she said. Jack usually made the coffee on Sunday mornings.

"Yeah." He looked at his hand, massaging her foot, as if surprised. He looked at her and shrugged. "So." He swallowed more coffee, he was slow to wake on weekends. "What would you like to do today?"

They'd talked about the options last night, over dinner. Claire preferred a lazy day, Jack liked to cram in as much activity as possible. They'd taken to flipping a coin to see who chose to do what on their Sundays. She won for the first time in weeks last night. "Hang out," she said, raising the mug to her lips. "Go walking in the park. See what finds us."

"I can do that." He released her feet, and she shifted, curling them back under her bottom. "You're the one who leaves windows open at night," he said, and then he pulled his robe together with one hand. "Here," he said, passing his mug to her. He tied the sash, then took his coffee, turning on the couch to fully face her. "Want to go out for breakfast?"

"Sure. In awhile." She smiled, looking over his head. It had been a ritual, Sunday breakfasts, when they first became lovers. She saw them in memory, that first Sunday, when they were still overwhelmed by their need, lust, passion, and yet there was a certain shyness between them. It was as if they couldn't believe what they'd discovered when they gave into that driving, demanding urge, and, now that they'd seen each other naked, left them feeling vulnerable and shy in the aftermath. "What?" She looked at Jack, sitting at the opposite end of the couch, his eyebrows arched and a knowing smile turning first left, then to the right.

"I can read your mind, you know."

"No you can't, otherwise you'd remember to put the seat down."

He grinned, that full, open 'this is Jack' grin. It was never seen in the office, that grin, unless they were alone and the door closed. It was as if Jack knew that anyone who saw that smile would immediately know they'd finally done the deed, and he didn't want that. She put her mug on the end table and slid across the couch. She leaned against him, and he put his arm around her. She caught his hand with hers, interlacing their fingers. His chin rested on her head, she felt him swallow, felt the interconnecting muscles of his body telegraph his movements as the mug traveled from the couch arm to his mouth and back. She wiggled even closer, pressing against that hard, lean body that seemed to have more angles than a geometry book. He kissed her hair, squeezed her smaller hand in his, had a little more coffee.

They sat like that, in contented silence, for nearly an hour, until the coffee was gone and the sun broke through the clouds. Then they showered and dressed, heading out to their favorite place for breakfast, a little diner near the Park. It was a popular restaurant. Claire often wondered how long it would be before they met someone they knew from work on these Sunday jaunts. She didn't care, not for herself, but she knew Adam would ream Jack because of her. Well, she thought, he's going to know soon enough, everyone will know, and all this angst will have been for naught. She absently covered her womb as they threaded their way through the waiting crowd on the way out, her other hand in Jack's.

On the sidewalk, in bright sunshine, Jack put his arm around her and they walked to the park. Kids were everywhere, it was that kind of day. She saw the babies first; she'd heard that was common with pregnant women, they noticed other pregnant women and babies where before they were invisible, and the notion made her smile. Jack stopped by a vendor and got coffees, passing hers when they'd stepped away from the sidewalk and the running, skating, shouting kids.

"Let's go over there," she suggested, gesturing with her blue and white cup toward the skate area.

Jack grinned. "Soliciting a headache?" he asked, his hand dropping to the small of her back as they walked toward the fenced area ahead and to the left.

"Just scouting the future," she answered. "We're going to have a son, I'd like to know what I'm in for."

"You'll never find the seat down," he warned, a good-natured glint in his eyes. "And you'd better go through pockets before you put anything in the washer."

She smiled. They stood beside the chain-link fence, which came up to their waists, and she looked around. Most of the kids appeared to be boys, ten or twelve years old, in bright, light jackets and jeans. Her eyes were drawn to a dark blonde boy, at least she assumed he was a boy, hard to tell from the back, as the kid rode his skateboard up a short ramp and sailed across the space to a waiting ramp a couple of feet away. She looked away from the successful jumper to smaller boys, just learning ramp technique on simple ramps and curls. She leaned against Jack and on the fence, glowing with the pleasure of watching boys revel in their freedom of movement, their innate grace and athleticism. Then she realized Jack's attention was elsewhere.

She looked up at him. He was staring to his left, at a blonde woman sitting on a bench inside the fence, watching the children. She realized it was Sally Bell, and she cocked her head, puzzled. They were locked in a struggle with Sally, their opposing counsel on this horror show case, watching Sally and Jack duel was akin to watching two pit bulls fight. What on earth was Sally doing in a skate park on a Sunday morning, she wondered, and she nudged Jack with her elbow.

"What's up with that?" she asked, nodding toward Sally, who was focused now on a boy standing in front of her. From the back, and judging by his size, Claire guessed him to be between eight and ten. He had short, light brown hair, and he was shedding a bright blue jacket, which he quickly shoved in Sally's hand before peeling away, back to his skateboard. Claire saw his face then, and she was hit with a wave of nausea that would have staggered a lesser person.

"My God," she whispered, "he's a picture of you."

Jack stared at him. The boy, oblivious to his audience, pushed off on his skateboard into the flow of boys riding around obstacles and over small jumps. He wore a long-sleeved black tee shirt and faded blue jeans, with big black and white sneakers on his feet. He faced them as he rode his board up a ramp, squatting in a jump position. One hand brushed hair away from his forehead, and Claire was chilled. It was Jack's gesture when he concentrated. The boy successfully came down on the decline, a wide grin on his young face, and he rolled into the recovery circle, executing a perfect turn to show them his back again.

"Jack?"

He was gone. He walked away from her, into the fenced area, his long stride eating the distance between himself and Sally Bell. Helpless, she watched Sally look up, saw the shock on her face and her recovery, observed Sally stand and confront Jack. Hands moved as well as mouths, Sally's gestures counterpoint to Jack's. Then Sally saw her, and she jerked her head in acknowledgement before focusing on Jack again. Though she could only see Jack's profile, she knew his face was a mix of confusion and anger. Claire watched as they talked, or argued, or whatever was passing between them, and then Jack turned, walking back to her.

What she saw was shock and pain on his face. He dodged children as if by radar, his eyes locked on Claire, and as he came closer, she saw tears in those eyes. She looked at Sally again, who stood by the bench, hands on her hips, watching them. Sally looked anything but pleased. Jack reached Claire and put his arm around her, turning her away from the skate area, and she fell into step with him by default. He paused long enough to throw his coffee in a trash can, then resumed his march to wherever. Claire focused on keeping up, lest she trip on her own feet and go sprawling on the sidewalk.

He stopped when they were out of the park and away from the foot traffic coming and going on a beautiful Sunday. He looked at her, holding her elbows, but words didn't come. His eyes said enough. Claire put her arms around him, held him for a long minute, and then she took his hand and led him, at a slower pace, back toward her apartment. It was not practical to walk that distance, but she wanted something to drain the pain and energy swirling inside Jack McCoy.

"Stop." He halted by the door to an Irish pub, one they knew fairly well. Jack played in some dart tournaments here, and it was their annual St. Patrick's Day stop. He shook his head, violently, then jerked her hand and led her inside. He pointed to a booth under the window, then walked from her to the bar. She ambled to the booth and slid across the hard bench, dazed and confused, and not a little frightened. Jack came over with a Coke for her and a drink for himself. He slid in across from her, then took a restrained sip of his scotch. "Jesus," he said. He reached across the table for her hand. "Jesus."

"You obviously have a son," she said, softly, her eyes watering. She used her free hand to wipe them.

"Yes," he said, squeezing her hand in his. "He's ten. That explains why she abruptly moved to Jersey after our breakup." He shook his head again, then drained his glass. He released her hand and got up. The table moved in the swirling force of his energy. He was a tightly coiled spring, she realized, and he was about to uncoil.

She felt sick. She watched Jack, at the bar, watching the bartender pour two double scotches. Jack paid him, put his wallet back in his pocket, and picked up the glasses. He seemed more in control when he sat again, both glasses in front of him.

"What did she say?" Claire asked, not sure she wanted to know. Jack already has a son kept repeating in her head, a nauseating sing-song chant. Claire would not give him his first and only son after all. She sagged, keeping both hands around her Coke.

"What could she say? He's clearly mine, even I can see that." He brushed hair off his forehead, then pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh Christ." He drained half of the first glass, then looked at Claire. "I am so sorry, Claire," he whispered. "I didn't know."

"I know." She had a death grip on the Coke glass, though she knew she should reach for his hand, make some kind of contact with him, ground him. "Now you do, though. What are you going to do?"

He met her intense gaze with one of his own. "I'm going to her apartment at three, I guess I'll find out then." He looked helpless, and it was not a posture she'd seen before. It was disconcerting.

"Does she know I'm pregnant?"

Jack shrugged a shoulder as he lifted the glass, looking at passing traffic through the grimy window. "I don't know. I didn't tell her." He looked at Claire again. "I can see that you're starting to show, but I don't think anyone else would notice. Those pleated pants you wear hide it well."

Which was the whole idea, she thought. "Are you going to tell her?"

"Do you want me to?" He drained his whiskey and pushed the empty glass across the table. "I'm angry, Claire." He looked at her. "I have a son, and if we hadn't gone to the park today, I might never know it." He picked up the second glass, sipping this time. He was more restrained, but she felt the anger just under the surface. A tiny muscle in his jaw flicked. He looked at her, but she didn't think he saw her. "His name is Gabriel, she told me that much."

"What else did she say?" Why do you have to know, she asked herself, finishing her Coke.

"She asked what we were doing there. She was as shocked to see us as we were to see her." He moved like a coiled snake, his hand coming across the table to grab hers. He held it, tightly, almost hurting her. "I don't know what to do, what to say, Claire." He finished his drink, setting the glass down too hard. The noise caught the bartender's ear and he looked at them for a second. "Ready?" Jack asked.

Claire nodded and they slid out of the booth. Back on the sidewalk, in sunshine that now seemed too bright, too hot, Jack flagged a cab and they rode silently back to Claire's apartment. Once inside, they sat on the couch and looked at each other. Silence grew between them. Then Jack got up, pacing, his fingers raking his hair.

"We really haven't made plans, Claire." He paused for a moment, looking at her, appealing for help with his scolded puppy's eyes. "I want to marry you. Now. This week." He spun and walked to the windows overlooking the street below. When he turned to retrace his steps back to her, he said "I want our son, Claire. And I'd like him born into an existing marriage, though I know that's no big deal these days." He made another circuit while she watched him. Then he sat beside her again, gently taking her hand. "Do you still want to marry me, Claire?" She heard fear in his voice. Her hand came up to rest against his cheek, her thumb stroking his chin.

"Yes." She made her voice work. She cleared her throat. "I do, Jack. This doesn't change anything. Is Sally going to want child support now?"

He shrugged. "It's my duty. So it's moot. Christ." He got up again, looking at his watch. It was one-thirty. He started toward the windows again, then turned and sat next to her. "Don't leave me, Claire."

"Jack, God." She took him in her arms, kissed his head, stroked his hair. "I'm not going to leave you because Sally Bell had your child and didn't tell you. We'll find a way to deal with this. Though I'm not sure how trial's going to go now, you two were bad enough before. Now…" her voice trailed away.

"This has nothing to do with that murdering rapist pig. It's only a question of sentence, the trial is a formality, and Sally knows that. She's fighting for life, not the needle." His head slipped down and rested just above her breasts, his hand on her waist. "I knew she wanted a child, it's why we broke up." His thumb rubbed her side just above her waist. "When I told her no way was I having another child, she walked out. The very next day. She quit the office and me at the same time." He sat up, turning slightly away from her. His hands dangled between his knees. "Adam was ready to kill me. Or castrate me. He did threaten to do that. I only think he wasn't serious." Jack raked his hair with the fingers of both hands, then scratched his head, hard, over and over.

She took his wrist and stopped him before he drew blood. "This is a shock, but it doesn't change anything."

He turned his head and faced her. "I hope not." His voice caught on the word 'hope.'

"Do you really want to get married this week?" She scooted next to him, still holding the hand she'd rescued.

"Yes." He put his right hand on top of their joined ones. "It'll make Adam happy." He looked away, then groaned, "Oh, God. Adam. You're pregnant, wait till he hears about Sally."

"Why does he have to hear about Sally? It's nobody's business."

"No, it isn't." He sighed. He looked at his watch. "I need to go. I don't know how long I'll be gone. You'll be here?"

"I live here." She rolled her eyes. "It's going to be OK, Jack. It doesn't change anything, at least the things between us. Right?"

"Right." He stood up, brushing the front of his jeans. He took Claire in his arms, holding her gently. "You won't --"

"I won't. We're not in any shape to think right now, but I promise, I'm not going anywhere. I'm having your baby." Her face darkened. "I may not be giving you your first son, but I am carrying your son. We're having a son. Hang on to that, that this boy is yours and will be from the moment he's born. I'll never take him away from you. Now. Go deal with Sally. I'll make dinner while you're gone, keep my hands busy."

He nodded. "I'll be back by dinner, I promise." He kissed her, a lingering, wistful kiss that said more than words could. He held her for a few more seconds, then stepped away. "Whoa." He sighed. "I'll be back."

She watched him leave the apartment. She moved to the windows, watched him mount his motorcycle and slip away, seamlessly merging with the traffic as he disappeared from view. She turned away from the windows and went into the bedroom. She fell across the bed, and then her tears came. She felt pain, it cut like a knife, and she didn't fight the sobs that ripped from her heart.

When she was drained, she rolled on her back, pulling Jack's pillow to her chest and holding it. Jack had another child, OK, was it that big a deal? The kid had been on the planet for ten years and life had motored right along, no jams in the way. Would he want to be "daddy" now, now that he knew he had a son? What would Sally want? Claire hoped the answer would be "nothing." She'd hidden the boy for ten years, kept him a secret from his father, why would she want that to change now that Jack knew?

And court. Claire felt sick again, thinking about facing Sally in court in the morning. She knew she must be professional at all times; she'd encountered Jack's past paramours on more than one occasion in court, and handled it well, professionally. Why should this be different? Because my hormones are running amok as it is, she thought, because this little guy has taken to kicking me, because the son I thought was Jack's first isn't and that bothers me for whatever reason. Am I going to have to accept this stranger as my son's brother? Will he be visiting us now?

She sat up. She knew she needed to keep busy, keep herself occupied with menial tasks and not think so much. The problem was her apartment was spotless, the laundry was done yesterday, after a half-day in the office, and she didn't know how to distract herself. Go shopping for dinner, she decided. Make a decent meal, be ready to listen to whatever Jack had to say, keep her heart and emotions on the side of the angels. The boy was not at fault, and she would hold to that innocence. As for Sally…

II

Jack knocked on Sally's door. She lived in a good neighborhood, in a good building, complete with doorman. Private practice must be paying off, he thought. Sally opened it and stepped back. Her eyes were red and puffy, a tissue clenched in her fist.

"Have a seat," she said, as she sank into a recliner. She picked up the remote and silenced the TV.

Jack perched on the edge of a leather couch, looking around. It was a large apartment, spotless and elegantly decorated. Sally had good taste, he admitted, getting up to examine a framed school picture. Gabriel grinned back at him, and his finger traced the boy's face. Jack cleared his throat, then asked "What's his last name?"

Sally shredded her tissue as she answered. "Bell."

Jack put the photograph back on the shelf and turned to look at her. "Does he know about me?"

"He knows he has a father, obviously." She leaned over and dropped the tissue in a trash can. "He asked your name the other day." A bitter cackle slipped out. "What's my father's name, he asks, as we're eating dinner. I asked him why he wanted to know."

"What did he say?"

She sighed. "Sit down, please. You make me nervous standing like that." When he was on the couch, she continued. "He said all the boys on his basketball team were talking about their dads, and he had nothing to say. It made him feel bad. I told him your name was Jack, and that you didn't know about him." She looked away, biting her bottom lip, then she snatched another tissue from the box. "He wanted to know why you didn't know." Fresh tears filled her eyes. "So I explained that you didn't want children, and rather than feel pressure from you to have an abortion, I walked away." She wiped her eyes, then looked at the tissue.

"Where is he now?"

"At church, basketball practice." The irony wasn't lost on either of them. Jack loved playing basketball. Sally glanced at her watch. "He'll be home at five. I want you gone before he gets here."

"I want to meet him."

"For what? Out of curiosity? Pop into his life for fifteen seconds, and then he'll never see you again? I don't think so, Jack."

Jack frowned, his seething anger surfacing. "Who says I won't be part of his life? Are you deciding that?"

"Do you want to be? Honestly? You're involved with Claire now, that's sure to end badly, and then what? If you think I want Gabriel caught in that crossfire, you've got another think coming."

He rubbed his nose with his thumb. "Claire and I are not going to end badly, as you put it."

She laughed, it was an ugly sound, and he stared at her. "Really? And you know this because? Jack, the girl is half your age. Sooner or later, she's going to want someone her own age, trust me. Someone who can keep up with her." She cocked her head and stared at him. "What."

Jack was cracking his knuckles, something he did when nervous. "Claire is pregnant, Sally. We're planning to get married."

"No shit," she almost whispered, still staring at Jack. "An accident, how did she resist your pressure to get rid of it?"

He frowned. "I didn't put any pressure on her. Yes, it was an accident, but a happy one. I want a child with her."

That remark hit home. Sally looked away. "But you didn't want one with me."

"It was ten years ago, Sally. And look at us now. We wouldn't have lasted. We have a son anyway." His frown deepened. "You should have told me."

"Yeah? I don't think so. I know how little you see of Rebecca. I don't want that for Gabe." She got up and poured a couple of drinks. Their fingers touched when she gave him a glass, and he recoiled. "Yeah, see what I mean," she said, bitterly, as she sat in her recliner. "We will not make good co-parents. Gabriel doesn't need you, Jack. My brother does the father thing. Go back to your little fantasy with Claire, where you'll live happily ever after, and leave Gabe and me alone."

"I don't need to point out my rights, do I?" Jack swirled the scotch in his glass.

"Don't go there, Jack. Don't even think about it."

"He's my son. I want to know him."

"Touching. I don't want you to know him, you'll just screw up his head, like you did with your daughter. Does Claire know what she's getting into, bearing your child, what you'll do to that kid?"

He sighed, then sipped scotch before another cruel remark escaped. "I am going to do it right this time," he said, and he locked Sally into his gaze. "I want this child, want to be his father."

"A son? You know already?"

"Ultrasound," he said. "The doctor said it was a boy." He sipped again. "Gabriel will have a brother, as he has a sister. Shouldn't he know his family?"

"He does know his family." She finished her drink and got up. She held the decanter toward Jack, and he nodded. She filled her glass before walking to him, and kept the decanter beside her on the end table.

The key in the lock rattled and then Gabriel came in, his face bloody. Father DeCaprio followed him inside. Sally was on her feet the second she saw her son. "Gabe?"

"It's just a bloody nose, Mom." He stopped, seeing Jack, the bloody towel in his hand falling away from his face. Father DeCaprio put his hand on Gabe's shoulder, looking at Sally.

"He's fine, Sally, but we felt he should come home and rest. He can't play with blood flowing." The priest looked at Jack, and recognition dawned in his eyes. He looked down at Gabriel Bell before looking back at Jack. He walked away from Gabe and Sally and extended his hand as Jack stood. "Mark DeCaprio," he said, with a firm handshake.

"Jack McCoy."

Gabriel's head came up at the word 'Jack,' his eyes narrowing. Sally stepped between her son and the men, her hand on Father DeCaprio's back. "Father, I once worked with Jack in the DA's office," she said, softly, pleading with her eyes for both men to leave. Now.

"Uh, yes, of course," the priest mumbled. "Are you Catholic, Mr. McCoy?"

"Lapsed," Jack answered.

"Jack, don't you need to get back to Claire?" Sally said, as Gabriel pushed his way into the group.

He stared up at Jack. "Your first name is Jack?" he asked.

Jack's expression was solemn. He extended his hand and took Gabe's much smaller one in a gentle handshake. "Yes," he said. "I'm an attorney, like your mom."

"You're the executive assistant district attorney here in Manhattan?"

Jack met the priest's steady gaze. "One of them," he said. "I head the major felonies branch."

"Father," Sally said, a clear warning note in her voice. Gabe looked up at her. Her hand covered his shoulder, Jack noted the slight pressure she applied.

"Yes, well, I must get back. I just wanted to see Gabriel home, assure you he's fine, but he should probably rest. Dr. MacKenzie was at practice, watching Stevie, he took a look at Gabe. Nice to meet you, Mr. McCoy."

Sally walked him to the door. In those brief seconds, Jack held Gabe's suspicious gaze with a bland one of his own, wondering what fresh hell would erupt now. Sally closed the door and returned to the pair. She took a deep breath, then put her hand on Gabe's shoulder again. "Gabriel Francis Bell, this is your father, John McCoy. Jack McCoy, your son Gabriel." She sagged.

Gabriel turned and caught her elbow. "Sit down, Mom," he said. He eased her back into the recliner, then took a seat on the end of the couch near her. Jack followed their lead and resumed his seat on the other end of the couch. He waited. Gabe would have to take the lead on this one. The boy looked at Jack again. "So you're my dad," he said. "I wondered what you looked like. You look like me." He glanced at Sally, then back at Jack. "Where have you been all my life?"

Jack cleared his throat. "I didn't know you existed until today. I saw you with your mother, that's the first I knew I had a son."

Gabe looked back at Sally. "You really didn't tell him? I thought you were lying to make me feel better."

"I really didn't, Gabe. I told you the truth, he didn't want children. You have an older sister, he never sees her, I didn't want that for you."

Gabe frowned at Jack. "You don't see my sister?"

Jack sighed. "That's more at her mother's request. They live in Maine, anyway." He rubbed the back of his head, he felt a headache coming on.

"You don't want more children?"

Jack looked over Gabe's head at Sally, who smiled as if to say explain this one, Jack. "At the time, when I was with your mother, no, I didn't want more children."

"And now?"

He sighed again. "The offspring of lawyers, must be in the genes." He cleared his throat again. He felt helplessly lost. "Your mother is telling you the truth, Gabe. But you bring up a good point." He closed his eyes for a moment. "I would like to get to know you. I've changed my views on more children."

"Why?"

He wanted to roll his eyes, but his son was so serious. He owed him total honesty. "I'm in a relationship, the woman is pregnant. And I was looking forward to trying fatherhood again. And I'd like to try it with you, if that's what you want. I'm not very good at it, but maybe you can help me get better."

"So you're going to have another baby, and you want to be there for that one. But you weren't there for me."

"I didn't know about you."

"Mom knew you." He looked at Sally again. "You didn't tell him for a reason, right? You said he'd want you to abort me, that he didn't want me."

"She didn't give me those choices, Gabe," Jack said. "It's up to you now. If you want to get to know me, I'd like the chance to make up for lost time."

The boy frowned, staring at the floor. "I don't know what I want." He dragged his sneaker-covered toe over the hardwood floor. Then he looked up at Jack. "I thought I wanted a dad. Now I don't know. Mom's always been here for me, Uncle Frank, too. And you'll be busy with your new baby, your new wife."

Jack didn't correct him. He felt he was not meeting Gabe's expectations. "I will always make time for you."

Gabe sniffed and looked back at the floor. "Thanks for coming over, Mr. McCoy. I'll think about it. Does Mom have your phone number?"

"I don't think so. Would you like to have it?"

Gabe looked at Sally for guidance. She smiled, then said "I'm in court with Jack right now, I can always tell him if you want to see him."

"I think I'd like to have his number," Gabe said.

Jack stood, putting his hands in his pockets. "I'm very glad I met you, Gabe," he said.

Gabriel stood. "Yes. I'm glad to meet you, too."

Sally struggled up and took Jack by the elbow. She walked him to the door and stepped out in the hallway with him. "Break his heart and I will break your balls, Jack," she hissed. "Don't set him up with expectations you won't fulfill."

"Sally. For Chrissakes, I just found out he's my son. Pardon me if I feel a little lost, but breaking his heart is not on my agenda."

She nodded and stepped back in the apartment. "Make sure it isn't." She closed the door.

Jack walked to the elevators, shaking his head. He wanted to be with Claire, the need was all consuming, and he kept jabbing the call button. The dull ding came just as the doors opened, and he stepped in, pressing one. A son, he thought. A son I never wanted and never knew existed, and now he's here, what am I supposed to do? Claire would help him. He wanted to get home to Claire.

III

He smelled roasting beef when he stepped into the apartment. He quietly closed the door and looked around. He saw a shadow move in the bedroom, and he called "Claire?"

She walked out of the bedroom, her hair damp, wearing her favorite pair of soft sweatpants and an oversized long-sleeved tee shirt under a Patriots jersey. As always, she wore socks but no shoes. She looked at him, waiting.

He stood in the middle of the living room. His shoulders slumped. Then he held his arms out and she came to him. He held her, smelling her shampoo, the delicate lavender scent of her soap and lotion, feeling her bones but also feeling, for a moment, the life within her. The flutter in her abdomen was strong enough to pass through his jeans, and he held her away for a second, smiling. "I felt that," he said.

"He's been swimming laps all afternoon," she replied. "Surely you felt Rebecca move?"

"Probably. I don't remember." He pulled her close again, his hand running up and down her back. "It didn't go all that well," he began.

Claire had the roast out of the oven by the time he finished telling her about his time with Sally and Gabriel. She held his hand, listening attentively. When he was through, she drew a deep breath. "This could be a mess," she said.

"My thoughts exactly. I think he's pissed at me for not wanting him, not realizing it's an abstraction - I didn't want kids, period, he can't see that it's not personal. And he's not thrilled about our child. I don't see how he can blame me for being an absent father when I didn't know he existed."

"He's just a boy, Jack. There's a lot he doesn't understand." She broke the handhold to check on the baking potatoes. While she was up, she got plates down and dug flatware out of the drawer. Jack joined her in the kitchen. He poured a large scotch. "I think you're going to have to talk to Adam."

"Why? You said it was none of his business."

"Now we know the kid's pissed, and his mother is going to be influenced by that. The mother lioness and all. It could cause problems in court, and this is not a case we want to lose on some technicality - like the DA and the defense attorney coming to blows."

Jack poked the roast and frowned. "Adam will not be thrilled."

"No, probably not. He will definitely not be thrilled to hear our news." She took the plates and flatware to the table. "Might as well tell him everything at once." Her voice had a flat quality, and Jack snagged her shoulder, stopping the laying of silverware. She turned and faced him. Tears spilled from her eyes. He took her in his arms, a knife and fork tumbled to the floor unnoticed. "I feel like we've lost all control of our lives, Jack. This baby was going to be our first - your son, my child - and now we have an intruder." She trembled. "I know I shouldn't feel that way. He's just a boy, it's not his fault. But I can't help it. Who knows what nonsense Sally's putting in his head? Is he going to be around our son? Remember that case, oh God, what was his name? He poisoned his baby brother out of jealousy."

"Hush." Jack stroked her back. "Gabe's not going to poison our son. I don't even know if he wants to be around me, let alone our baby. Let's not borrow trouble, we've got enough as it is."

She pulled away, then noticed the knife and fork on the floor. She picked them up and traded them for clean ones in the kitchen. Jack followed her. He took the utensils from her and put them aside, then gathered her in his arms again. She stood with him until the timer went off a few minutes later. "I have dinner ready," she mumbled, pulling away.

"Claire."

"I'll be OK, Jack, it's just hormones." She pulled a carving knife out of the block. "Would you put those," she gestured with the knife at the flatware, "on the table?"

"Sure." He grabbed them and took them to the table.

They ate, but neither had much appetite. She ate to make Jack happy, he'd lecture her about the baby's nutrition if nothing else, and Jack ate because she'd made this nice dinner and he didn't want to disappoint her. By the time the dishes were done, she had a pounding headache. All that had been, could be, decided was to tell Adam in the morning, before court. Claire kissed his cheek and went to bed. She cried herself to sleep under the covering noise of the TV, wondering how it all went so haywire. I made one choice, she thought, blotting her tears with a tissue, I chose the park this morning and now life has gone to hell in a hand basket. She snuggled under the covers and simply let the tears flow. It was all she knew to do.

IV

"I'll talk to him, there's no need for you to be there," Jack said, standing beside his desk. "Stay here, and think good thoughts." He touched her face with his finger, tracing the line of her cheekbone. "It's not the end of the world, Claire."

"I know." She patted his arm. "Go get it over with, and let's hope I still have a job in an hour."

Jack nodded and left his office, cutting across the narrow hallway to the private entrance to Adam's office. The door was ajar. He rapped twice and waited.

"Come in," Adam called.

Jack walked in and closed the door behind him. He looked at Adam, who sat at his desk with his briefcase open, and drew a deep breath. "Adam."

"Oh God, what fresh hell is this?" Adam closed his briefcase and put it on the floor. "Is this a hold all calls thing?" When Jack nodded, Adam reached for the phone and barked instructions at his secretary. Then he leaned back in his chair and waited.

Jack sat on the couch and cleared his throat. "My life has suddenly become very complicated, Adam. Claire and I went to Central Park yesterday - have you ever seen that skateboard play area they have for younger kids? - anyway, we found ourselves there, watching the kids. And we saw Sally Bell. She was there because her son was one of the boys skateboarding." He closed his eyes and took another deep breath. "I had no idea, Adam. None. I knew she left me abruptly, same as you."

"You're saying Ms. Bell's son is also your son?" Adam sat up straight and stared at him.

"Yes. I met Gabriel later that afternoon, he thinks I didn't want him and stayed away on purpose, though Sally and I both told him I didn't know about him." Jack filled his lips with air, then expelled it, softly. "It gets more complicated, Adam. He's not only angry at me for not being part of his life, he's really angry that I'm going to have another child, one I'll be there for." He looked away from Adam, to let the older man process that one.

"Another one?" Adam frowned. "You're going to have another child?"

"Yes. In about four months."

Adam reached for his phone. "Send Ms. Kincaid in, now." He slammed the receiver down on the phone. "Were you going to tell me about that, or was Ms. Kincaid going to disappear a la Ms. Bell?"

"Of course we were going to tell you. After we got married."

"Which is when?" The door opened and Claire walked in. She was pale, her gait unsteady. She walked to the chair next to Jack and sank into it. Adam looked at her, hard, his old eyes evaluating everything about her. Then Adam leaned back. "I understand congratulations are in order," he said, but there was no warmth in his voice.

"Adam, we didn't do this on purpose," Jack said. "I thought you'd be pleased we're getting married."

"Oh, sure. I am. I'm sure everyone in the building will be talking about it." He rubbed his face. "When are you due?"

"In June."

"And the nuptials?" He looked from one to the other.

"As soon as possible," Jack said. "This week, a City Hall deal."

"And all of this in the middle of a high profile trial." He pulled on his nose, then his hand slapped palm down on his desk. "Are you anticipating trouble with Ms. Bell? Is that why you had to ruin my Monday?"

"I don't know what to expect from Sally personally, but I think she'd remain professional in her conduct and demeanor when it comes to the Scott trial."

"And how does she feel about her son suddenly discovering his father?"

"She didn't want it to happen." Jack shrugged. "He's hurt, I'm sure he'll understand it better when that passes. She's no doubt hurting for him."

Adam sighed. "No doubt. Whatever you do, do not allow the personal to spill into that courtroom." He looked at Claire. "And you can deal with a new brother for your child? Deal with Ms. Bell up close and personal?" Claire nodded. "I suppose you're used to gossip by now, but if this gets out, about Ms. Bell's son, it's going to get worse. You're prepared to deal with all that?"

"I don't have a choice."

"No, no you don't." Adam got up and walked around his desk, perching on its top, facing them. "All right. Get ready for morning session. I'm instructing you to be nothing but professional in any conversation you have with Ms. Bell while inside the courthouse. And what you say or do outside of it better not get back to me. And get married, soon. Go."

They walked out together and closeted themselves in Jack's office. Before she could speak, Claire saw motion outside Jack's door. She turned. It opened and Sally came in, dressed for court.

"Good morning," she said, her tone neutral. "We have developments." She took a visitor's seat, her briefcase in her lap. She waited for Jack to sit, ignoring Claire. "My client has decided to spare the State further expense. He's willing to plead and allow the judge to sentence him. I've told him I don't think that's a good idea, the judge is known for his pro-capital punishment views, but Mr. Scott insists. With your consent, this now becomes a prolonged sentencing phase." She waited, her eyes on Jack.

He looked at Claire, seated in her usual chair. She nodded, barely perceptibly, and he turned his head back to Sally. "Appeal proof?"

"Appeal proof," she said. "He knows what it all means. He doesn't want to prolong the inevitable. If the State of New York wants to stick a needle in him, he won't appeal. Over and done with it was how he put it."

"We have no objection." Jack turned to look at Claire, he knew only too well how she felt about capital punishment. Could life get any more complicated? He shook his head. "Shall we go see Judge Halliwell?"

Sally stood. "I'll meet you there." She looked at Claire for the first time. "How are you dealing with all these, uh, personal complications to your quiet little life?"

Claire stood. She was taller than Sally, and right now she'd take whatever advantage she could find. "That's all it is, a complication. My son will have a big brother, that's not a bad thing." Her mouth was dry, but she didn't want to telegraph a weakness by getting water.

"Gabe isn't sure he wants Jack in his life," she said, without rancor. "He's confused, understandably so. He feels abandoned, now that he knows Jack lives in the city. I can't make him understand that Jack didn't know about him, so he couldn't have abandoned him." She jiggled her briefcase. "He's a nice kid, Ms. Kincaid, it's important that you know that, understand that. And he's totally blameless in this mess. I need to know that, if you spend time with him, you'll accept him openly and honestly, as your child's brother and as Jack's son."

Claire glanced at Jack, then back at Sally. "Of course, Ms. Bell. He shouldn't pay for the mistakes of the adults in his life."

Sally nodded. "That's all I need to know. Thank you." She started for the door, then stopped and turned. "I wish you well, I really do. You're a braver woman than I am, to take on Jack McCoy in wedlock." She smiled. "And I warn you, he has some strong genes, Gabe is so much like him it scares the spit out of me sometimes."

Claire genuinely smiled. "I can think of worse fates."

"See you shortly," Sally said, and she left. When the door was closed, Claire turned to Jack.

"What do you think is up with Mickey Scott?" she asked.

He checked his tie in the small mirror on his clothing rack. After making a minor adjustment and getting his coat off its hanger, he said "I don't know. If I had to guess, I'd say it's a tactic to cause reversible error, with the end result no death penalty." He shrugged, pulling on his lapels. "If so, it's a fatal error. The latest holding is that defendants who go straight to sentencing are stuck with what they get, if they had competent counsel. And Sally is nothing if not competent." He picked up his briefcase. "Ready?"

She was.

V

Once the judge grasped the situation, he instructed Mickey Scott to stand. He inquired, as the expression went in legal circles, of Scott's grasp of the issues. Satisfied with Scott's responses, he adjourned court for the week.

"I want all attorneys prepared for this phase," he said, looking down at the lawyers. "If a week isn't enough, I'm prepared to grant an open-ended continuance until all parties are thoroughly prepared. Court is adjourned." He banged his gavel and got up.

Sally waited and walked out with Jack and Claire. "Can you be ready in a week?" she asked Jack.

"I can," he said. "I've been preparing for sentencing since day one."

"And you're determined to ask for the death penalty?" Her eyes cut to Claire, on Jack's left, as they stepped outside.

"I am." He put his hand on Claire's back. Foot traffic on the steps was heavy, but that was business as usual on a Monday morning. "I'd be hard-pressed to find a defendant more deserving of it."

Sally rolled her eyes. "Then I'll see you in court." She leaned forward to look Claire in the eyes. "I understand you're opposed to the final solution to the criminal problem."

Claire shrugged. Someone bumped her shoulder and she bumped Jack, who grabbed the fabric of her coat to stabilize her. "I'll do what my job requires," she lamely responded. Jack stopped, as did the women flanking him. Claire looked at Jack, puzzled.

"Sally, don't even think about pressuring Claire. There's enough pressure to go around as it is."

"Wouldn't think of it, Jack." She held the briefcase by its handle, with both hands, in front of her. "I'm going to ask Danielle Melnick for help, though. Just so you know. And, uh, I'm perhaps being premature, but I need your phone number. For Gabe. He may decide he wants to talk to you. Are you OK with that?"

"Yes, absolutely." Jack fished his wallet out of his hip pocket, pulled out a business card, and then found a pen in an inner pocket of his suit coat. He scribbled his number on the back, then looked at Claire. She nodded. He wrote her number under his, and put a 'C' in parentheses beside it. "As long as he understands that we divide our time for the immediate future between apartments, and that she's as innocent in all this as he is."

Sally took the card. "I'll be sure he does." She put the card in her purse. She looked at them, a sad smile spreading across her face. "We'll work this out, Jack, we have to. He's a great kid, he'll get over the shock and then you'll see." She shifted the purse strap on her shoulder. "Wedding bells expected soon?"

Jack nodded. "Tell Gabe he can call me anytime. If I don't answer at my apartment, leave a message and then try Claire's number." He looked at his lover. "Might as well give Adam an update. Later, Sally."

VI

They were married by Caryn Hughes, a judge who'd once been in the DA's office with Jack. Never his assistant, she was one of his best buddies out of the court environment, and she happily agreed to marry them. It was a quiet, quick ceremony. Adam was there, as was Claire's mother and stepfather. They didn't invite friends or colleagues.

Claire felt a kind of let-down when it was over. She and Jack couldn't get away for the weekend, there was too much to do to prepare for the sentencing phase, but she decided that was just as well. It wasn't the wedding she once dreamed of, as a young girl, but it was legal and binding. Her son would be named McCoy, and while she preferred Kincaid as a last name, and would keep it for her work, she was happy enough.

The ceremony was in the morning, then the newly married couple went back to Jack's apartment. They'd slowly been moving her stuff into it, putting what wouldn't fit or blend in storage. Their law clerks worked nights helping them pack and load, then unload; Claire promised them a dinner at the most expensive place they could find when the Scott case concluded. The apartment looked good, she would be happy living here, she thought, undressing. She put on jeans and a sweatshirt, then went into the small second bedroom. Jack was stirring paint.

"Not a bad way to spend our honeymoon," he offered, "painting the nursery for little Adam."

She nodded, weighing two brushes in her hands. "I think that's the right name for him, Jack." She chose the lighter brush, in her left hand, and dropped the other back in the box. "He's been wonderful to both of us over the years."

"I know." He tapped the long, thin stirring paddle against the top of the can, then wiped its edges along the same. He put the paddle in a box, then leaned over to kiss her. "I haven't felt this good, this excited, about life in a long time."

She rubbed her abdomen, small circles that soon would be big circles. She smiled. "I'm so looking forward to meeting this little guy."

He took the brush from her. "We better get busy or he'll be here before his room is ready. McCoys are impatient SOB's, you know."

"I know," she said, "trust me, I know."

______xx______

Judge Halliwell sentenced Mickey Scott to death. It wasn't unexpected. Sally told them Scott had instructed her not to appeal, he wanted the show on the road, but she expected new lawyers in her office any day.

Gabriel waited to call Jack, for this trial to be over. Claire wasn't surprised. She felt the kid wanted Jack's undivided attention, Sally probably told him that when Jack was trying a case, he was distracted and never completely there. The phone rang on the Sunday after the conclusion of sentencing. It was an overcast day. She and Jack were putting the crib together, and he, already standing, left her holding a side rail while he got the phone.

His warm "Gabe" told her things were going to get more complicated, instead of less. Jack's side of the brief conversation was mostly single words, she heard a "yes" and a "sure" before she busied herself with a screwdriver and a recalcitrant side rail. Jack was back in a couple of minutes, a nervous expression on his face.

"Uh, Gabriel wants to come over. Without his mother. She'll drop him off and pick him up, but he wants one on one with me."

"You want me to leave?" She found the right screw for the next attachment.

"No. He's going to have to get used to you if he wants a relationship." He knelt beside her and took the screw. "But would you go down to the bodega and get a couple of Cokes?"

"Sure." She used his shoulder as support to rise. "I'll get munchies, too."

"Thanks, Claire." He frowned in concentration, he hated small screws. When she returned, with a bag of soft drinks and snacks, he had the crib almost finished. He seemed proud of himself, his grin was wide and easy.

"I'll be damned, I didn't know you were so handy." She kissed his cheek. "What time is he coming over?"

Jack looked at his watch. "Any minute. Shit. I wanted to change." He looked down at his paint-stained jeans and tennis shoes.

"You look fine," she said. "You look like a dad." Her smile was sweet.

"Think so?"

"Think so." She kissed him again. She'd never seen him quite like this. He was fidgety and excited, and she didn't know if that was over Gabe's impending arrival, or the three month delay until young master Adam made his appearance. It didn't matter, she thought, he's happy and that's a good thing.

They waited on the couch. Gabe knocked five minutes later, and Jack got up. He opened the door and stepped back. Young Gabriel Bell walked in, dressed in black jeans and a black hoodie, black and white sneakers on his feet. He stopped when he saw Claire.

"My wife, Claire, Gabe." Jack put a hand on the boy's shoulder then jerked it back. "Claire, my son, Gabriel."

"Nice to meet you, Gabe," Claire said, noting his dark, angry eyes and the rigid jaw. She looked at Jack. "I'm going to take a nap. There's Coke in the refrigerator, and some chips and dip on the counter."

When the bedroom door closed, Jack focused on his son. He saw the tense young body, the wariness, and wondered how he could reach him. "Sit," he said. "Want a Coke?"

"Uh, sure." Gabe sat on the edge of the couch. Jack went in the kitchen and came back with a Coke for the kid and a real drink for himself. He settled on the opposite end of the couch and waited for Gabe to make the first move. "I, uh, I didn't think she'd be here," he said to Jack.

Jack smiled gently before he sipped his drink. "She's my wife, Gabe. Of course she's going to be here. You'll get used to her, to both of us. You'll have to tell me what you want, as I warned you the first time, I'm not good at father stuff."

Gabe sniffed his drink, then swallowed. "I just sort of want to get to know you. Mom says you're not a bad guy, that she'd hoped you two were the real thing. But I guess," he trailed off, "I got in the way."

"Gabriel, I've told you, I didn't know about you. I can't say what would have happened had your mom told me she was pregnant, but I can assure you that I wouldn't have insisted she get an abortion."

Gabe nodded. "What about her?" He jerked his head in the direction of the bedroom door. "Is she what Mom calls the real thing?"

"Claire? Yes." He turned the glass in circles on his thigh.

"And your baby with her?"

"What about him?"

Gabe's eyes narrowed, as if Jack had hit him and it hurt. "She's going to have a boy?"

"That's what the ultrasounds say." Jack felt awkward, talking about Adam in the abstract. "How do you feel about that?" he asked, sensing that Gabriel was not thrilled with the idea of a brother.

The boy shrugged. "I dunno. It doesn't really matter. He's your son, too." He stared down at his can of Coke. "I guess it will be kind of cool to have a little brother."

"It is. I was the eldest in my family, I know what it's like."

"So, when we hang out, if we hang out," he hastily amended, "is she going to be around?"

Jack sighed. "Sometimes. I'm not sending her away. And when Adam's born, she'll be where Adam is."

"That's his name, huh?" Gabe scuffed his shoes on the leg of the coffee table.

"Yes. After our boss, the District Attorney for New York County."

"Mom worked for him."

"She did."

Gabe looked around. "Uh, can I use your phone? I told Mom I wouldn't be long."

Jack was disappointed, but he didn't push it. "On the desk," he directed.

Sally came five minutes later, walking up to the apartment to get Gabe. She apologized, explaining that he was nervous, and Jack assured her all was well, he understood. He watched them walk to the elevators, then stepped back into his apartment. Claire had come out of the bedroom. She looked at him, and he shrugged. These things would take time, he decided, but this was a step, and he was grateful for that much.

VII

Two months passed. Gabriel began coming by on Sunday afternoons, loosening up more with each visit. He was civil to Claire, who usually found something else in the apartment to do while he was there. She didn't think she was going to be very good at this stepmother thing. Ought to talk to Mac, she thought, a cynical smile playing on her face, get some pointers on step-parenting.

It was another Sunday afternoon. Jack was at the office, working with a state attorney on a brief to present opposing the intervention of ACLU attorneys in the Mickey Scott case. True to his word, Scott had instructed his new attorneys not to file appeals, but the ACLU decided he was suicidal and needed their intervention. She knew Jack talked to Gabe that morning, letting him know he'd be at work all afternoon. It didn't seem to go over well, she reflected, the kid had come to expect these Sundays with his father. At least, she thought, Jack was much less of a stranger to the boy, they seemed to be developing a relationship of sorts.

Someone knocked on the door. She got up, her back ached, and the last thing she wanted was company. She couldn't imagine who'd drop in on a Sunday afternoon. She checked the peephole, surprised when she saw Gabriel. She opened the door.

"Come in. Jack's working, didn't he tell you that?"

Gabe came in, more assured than she'd ever seen. "Yes, he did. I just wanted a chance to talk to you. Mom says we have to get to know each other, that I'm being unfair to you."

"Are you?" Claire walked into the kitchen. She got a Diet Coke and offered a Coke to her stepson.

He took it and walked back with her to the couch. "I don't want to be," he said, then popped the top of the can. He sat awkwardly on the couch, as if he couldn't find a comfortable spot. He sipped his soda, then said, "If I was honest about it, I'd say I'd like to see my parents have another chance to be together, but…" he raised the can to his mouth.

Claire looked at him, taken aback. "You're honest, that's good. But you know that's not going to happen, Gabe."

"Maybe it will." He reached around his back, his eyes on Claire. Then she was looking at the barrel of a twenty-two. Gabe stood, dropping his soda can. "It might if you weren't here." He held the gun with both hands, and before Claire could connect reality with what she saw, he fired, three times.

It was like being hit by a brick. She knew that, she'd been hit by falling bricks one summer when she was fifteen, and Mac was working on the boat house. One, twice, slam, slam, she was on her back, staring up. She'd heard a third shot, he missed, she thought, staring up at a child's version of her husband's face. Then he aimed at her stomach. Claire's hands came up, she tried to scream, but no sound escaped from her throat. He aimed carefully and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

The neighbors, she thought, they had to hear the gunshots. Wracked with pain, terrified for herself and her son, she held her hands out. "Please," she whispered.

Gabe looked at the jammed pistol, then threw it at her. "Go to hell," he screamed. "If wasn't for you and that little bastard, I might have my dad back, all the time." He spun around and ran out, the door banging in his wake.

Claire lay there, in agony, her blood seeping out in an ever-expanding circle. I'm going to die, she thought. Jack. Please, Jack. She whimpered as the blackness came for her, creeping from the outside in, and then she was gone.

VIII

She woke in the hospital. A haggard Jack sat beside her bed. He had at least three days growth, she thought, perceptions dulled by pain medicine. She moved her hand. "Jack?" It came out as a whisper, but he heard her. He jumped up and took her hand. "Jack, the baby?"

He smiled, even as tears flowed down his cheeks. "Adam is fine," he said. "The bullets hit your shoulder and your upper abs, missed Adam, missed all the important stuff for that matter." He stroked her head. "Mr. Grimes, next door, heard the shots and called the cops." He wiped his tears with the back of his hand. "He said he saw a young boy running for the stairwell when he came out to check. Who shot you, Claire?"

She looked at him, trying to find the words. She knew he knew, but he had to hear her say it, without her confirmation he would cling to the hope that his son had not tried to kill her. She squeezed his hand. "Gabe," she whispered.

Jack nodded. Then he looked at the ceiling. "Oh God," he said. Then he stroked her head again. "Briscoe and Curtis picked him up Sunday afternoon. Sally didn't want to let them print him, but in the end, she got out of the way." Another stroke. "Still, I had to hope…maybe it was a friend of his or something."

She licked her lips. Her brain didn't seem wired right. "The baby?"

He smiled. "Fine," he reassured her. "You will be, too. You lost some blood, and you're going to have some ugly scars, but hey, I love scars." He let go of her hand. "I have to tell Van Buren you confirmed it." He squared his shoulders. "I'll be back soon."

He walked out of the room, turning toward the elevators and the pay phone. Then Anita got off the elevator. He stopped and waited for her, and she took his elbow.

"Is there somewhere we can talk, Jack?"

He guided her to one of the family rooms. She closed the door and looked at him. He waited.

"How's Claire?" she asked.

"She woke up a few minutes ago. I was on my way to call you." He rubbed his face. "She confirmed it, Lieutenant. Gabriel shot her."

She sat down and he did, too. "Jack, we were pretty damn sure he did. I know you hoped it was someone else, but…Sally hired Danielle Melnick to represent him."

He raked his fingers through his hair. "OK. I don't remember who Adam said he gave it to."

"Carly Henderson."

"Good." He looked at his hands, dangling between his knees. "I don't know what to say." He raised his head and met her gaze. "Sally said he had some fantasy of the two of us getting back together, I guess he thought if he got Claire out of the way…"

"Danielle will deal, Jack. No one wants this to go to trial, even in family court. He's ten years old, he didn't know what he was doing."

He gave her an even look. "You don't believe that any more than I do. He knew exactly what he was doing. I haven't asked Claire about it, I wanted to call you before we got into it, but I'll bet you any amount of money that he knew precisely what he was doing. Kids lose their innocence very young these days." He rolled his head in a circle, his neck popped like a string of cheap firecrackers. "Would you like to talk to Claire?"

"Yes."

They stood and returned to her room. Claire was more alert, though far from completely lucid, but she smiled at Jack, then at Anita. Jack stood aside while Van Buren asked the necessary questions. The answers made him ill. His son had come prepared to kill her, his reasoning being her obstacle to his parents' happiness. When she described him taking aim on the baby, Jack's blood ran cold. Anita took notes as Claire spoke, with long pauses between the words, then Jack stopped it.

"She's tired, Lieutenant. You have what you need to prosecute him." The bitterness in his voice carried to both women. Claire searched for him with her eyes. He moved to the other side of her bed and took her hand.

"Jack, I'm sorry," she said.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he said. "I'm the one who's sorry." He touched her cheek with the back of his hand. "So very sorry."

She caught his hand before he could pull it away and kept it against her cheek. "He's just a hurting, confused boy," she said. She rubbed her cheek against Jack's hand. She was exhausted, she wanted to sleep, she cut her gaze to Anita as if asking if she'd given enough information. Anita closed her notepad and put it in her purse, then patted Claire's shoulder.

"Get some rest, Claire," she said. "You don't know how happy I am, we all are, that you're OK." She looked at Jack. "Hang in there, Counselor." He nodded, and Anita left them.

Claire closed her eyes, drifting away. She felt her baby kick, and she wanted to move Jack's hand so he could feel it, too, but her arms felt too heavy. She felt as if she was sliding down a long tube - the sense of motion, of walls speeding past her, was strong. She went with it, with the falling sensations, and when it stopped, she stood in a park, under a tree. Birds sang, a breeze blew through the leaves, it was beautiful here, deserted as it was. She eased down on the ground, her back against the trunk, her fingers pulling on the grass. Gabriel, she thought.

And with thoughts of Gabriel, the sky darkened as clouds rushed in from the west. The wind picked up, tearing through the leaves, and thunder rumbled in the distance. Claire thought of Gabriel, and she was cold. Underneath that inner chill, though, anger smoldered, and her thoughts of Jack's son acted like a bellows on the banked embers of her anger. Gabriel wanted her dead, wanted the baby dead, thinking that would clear the path for his parents. He'd been so cold when he aimed his pistol at her. She could have been a spider for all he cared, her life and the baby's life as inconsequential as the average house spider's. He aimed right for the baby, she remembered, but his pistol jammed. And he left me for dead, to bleed out. In his mind, it was a happily ever after scenario, he never considered that he would be held accountable for his actions.

She shivered in the wind, smelled rain and ozone as the storm moved closer, lightning bisecting the sky. Gabriel wanted to kill her and believed he would walk away unscathed, that he would not be caught and punished. She saw his face in her mind, it was Jack's face on a child's scale, and that resemblance kept her from hating him. He's a child who did not do more than run on his emotions, part of her argued, while the other part stood and approached the witness box to ask, and does this not establish he's a psychopath? What greater evil is he capable of, she asked, if he hadn't acted now, what horrors would he perpetuated against Adam down the road? The thought of her helpless baby in the boys' hands made her ill.

She remembered the details of another boy's crime against his baby brother, though names and dates escaped her as the storm raged around her. She hugged her knees, remembering the young teenager's eagerness to convict the nanny, how he volunteered details that ultimately hung him. She recalled that he was about fourteen, a good looking kid, who felt pushed aside by an infant. His father's new family took away what time the boy had with his father, and like Gabriel, he acted on impulse and emotion, not weighing the consequences and the sheer evil of his thoughts and actions.

Gabriel had just discovered his father, was just getting to know him, and Claire wondered how he could be so jealous of a baby who wasn't here and a father he barely knew. What fantasies played in his mind about his father, his parents, a vague future where they'd all be together? Claire shivered, recalling the ice in Gabe's eyes as he aimed his gun at her. He would erase these interlopers and have his father at last, she thought, did he truly believe there were no consequences? How could he be so cavalier about taking lives? Why did he hate her so much, hate his unborn brother? For that matter, she thought, hugging her knees tighter, how did a ten year old generate that much hatred to begin with, generate thoughts of murder? He was a child, she argued, is a child really responsible for its acts? Some would argue yes indeed, others would counter with absolutely not. And in this horror show, a judge would ultimately make that decision. Gabriel was in other hands now, dispassionate hands that would weigh him and decide his fate until his twenty-first birthday.

And will he return for us, she wondered. Will he nurture that hatred and violent streak, and come back for Adam and me? She leaned back, head against the tree, closing her eyes. What is Jack thinking, she asked, how does he feel about his son now? He'd been so hopeful, wanting a relationship, wanting to do it right, and it was shattered, this new relationship, in pieces at his feet.

She felt pain in the upper left quadrant of her abdomen. She raised her head and looked at the rain, obscuring her view of the park, and wanted to wake up, to find this was a nightmare. Too much Mexican food or something, she thought, wincing as the pain kicked her again. Please, don't let this be real, she thought. Don't put Jack through this. Or me, or baby Adam, even Sally should be spared the dreadful knowledge that Gabriel Bell was a psychopathic would-be killer.

And then pain woke her from her dream of a park in a thunderstorm. Her eyes fluttered open. She stared at the ceiling, at the tiles and water stains and the grid of supports. Reality settled on her, kicked into action by pain. She turned her head, someone had to help her with the pain. Jack sat in a chair, reading. He sensed her movement and looked up. Putting the magazine aside, he stood and took her hand.

"Pain," she said, her voice cracking. "Help me."

Jack reached for the call button and pressed. Then he stroked her forehead. A nurse came in, she edged Jack aside as she checked Claire.

"Pain," Claire repeated, "it hurts so much, help me."

The nurse nodded. "Right away." She checked Claire's IV line, then walked out, and Claire looked at Jack, at a loss for words. He smiled, weakly, holding her hand. The nurse returned a few minutes later with an injection, and Jack stepped away as she inserted the needle into the IV feed. "The doctor will order a pump, now that you're awake," she said to Claire, breaking off the needle and disposing of both parts in special boxes on the wall. "He should be here shortly. Anything else you need?" Her smile was kind, her accent betrayed her origins as far from New York.

"No, thank you." Claire's voice smoothed out as she used it. "Oh. Could I have some water?"

"Right there," she answered, pointing to the wheeled table beside the bed. As she walked away, Jack reached for the plastic pitcher and a cup. He helped Claire drink, then wiped her lips with a paper napkin he found on the table.

"What are they charging him with, Jack?"

He put the plastic cup on the meal table, then perched on the edge of her bed, one hand resting lightly on the bed rail. He looked ten years older, she thought, this has aged him, it's so wrong. Jack cleared his throat, then said "Attempted murder, two counts. He'll max out in juvie." He sighed. "Danielle tells me Sally is a wreck, wondering what she did wrong, to have raised a young killer." He touched her fingers with his. "Danielle came by while you were unconscious, as a friend, not Gabe's attorney. She obviously couldn't say much, but she did tell me Sally's falling apart."

"It's not her fault, Jack, any more than it's yours. His wiring is crossed, how could anyone know that until he acted?" She shivered, and he stood, pulling her blanket up to her shoulders. "What if he comes back for us, when he gets out?"

"Not too likely. He knows, or he will, that I want nothing to do with him. He has no reason to come back."

"Revenge comes to mind," she said. She wondered if she was slurring her words, Jack frowned as if he had trouble understanding her.

"That's possible, I suppose." He rubbed her knee. "We'll cross that bridge when we meet it." He looked at the window, then back at her. "We have to concentrate on getting you better," he said. "The surgeon told me you should recover without any lasting complications, and give birth to a healthy baby."

"All these meds," she said.

"He told me they wouldn't affect the baby. Don't worry about that."

She couldn't help worrying. The baby turned, gave her a gentle kick, and she smiled, was he telling her all was cool, no worries Mom? He would arrive within the next month, if everything went as expected. She caressed her stomach, her fingers talking for her to the little boy secure in her womb. "I can't wait for him to get here," she said, drowsy again.

Jack put his hand over the baby, his pressure was light, and then Adam kicked, right under his hand. He smiled. "I think he wants out, too."

The door opened, and a man in a white lab coat came in. A chart dangled from his hand. "Mr. McCoy," he said, pleasantly, and he looked at Claire. "Mrs. McCoy, how are you feeling?"

"Buzzed," she admitted.

"Demerol," he said, with a little smile. "Before you ask, it won't affect the baby, you're not going to be on it long enough to worry about things like addiction. Speaking of the baby, you're going to need someone with you when you're released, it's not uncommon for trauma to induce labor early. I don't want you home alone and then having quick-onset labor." He looked at Jack. "You'll arrange for a caretaker?"

"Yes," he said.

He examined Claire, made notes in the chart, then faced her with a reassuring smile. "I'm going to hold off on the pain pump," he said. "The wounds were clean, through and through, you're healing beautifully. You can go home in a week or so. The nurses will give you pain medicine on demand, but I don't want to send you home after being on a pump. That said, if the pain is just unmanageable, I can order a pump later. Any questions?"

She struggled to form coherent thoughts through the Demerol fog. "The baby," she finally said, "will he really come early?"

"It's possible." He lifted a page on her chart. "You're due in what, four weeks? Babies can come up to two weeks of either side of that date, so it's really nothing to worry about. Let's get you through the next couple of weeks and then you can breath easier, but." He closed the chart cover. "I do not want you home alone. Trauma-induced labor can move very fast." He put his pen in his coat pocket. "Let the nurses know if you need anything. I'll see you this afternoon."

She closed her eyes when he left. Sleep demanded its due, and she gave in, knowing Jack would be close by. He would keep the demons evoked by Gabriel Bell at bay.

IX

She was released from the hospital eight days later. Jack brought her home, accompanied by the home nurse he'd engaged, and they settled her in bed. She knew Jack had to go back to work, he'd been working an abbreviated schedule for the past few days. It had to be piling up, she thought, he needs to go in.

She liked her nurse well enough. Her name was Sandy, she was a chubby blonde with a raucous laugh, and she seemed more than competent. Claire disliked depending on anyone, let alone needing the help of another, especially for such functions as the bathroom and shower. Jack was adamant. She needed the help and she was going to accept it. The move from the hospital to home aggravated her wounds, and Sandy gave her pain medicine, then left her alone with Jack.

He threaded a tie under his collar. "I'll be home early," he said, "and if you need me for any reason, call, I'll come home." He knotted his tie, then checked it in his reflection. He adjusted his collar, then turned to look at her. "Let Sandy do what she's trained and paid to do, OK? As much as I want to meet Adam, I don't want to come home and find him in bed with you." He smiled.

"Yes sir," she said, and she sketched a salute.

He pulled his suit coat off its hanger. "I'll be back." He shrugged into his jacket. "Be good." He winked at her.

She stared at the ceiling once she was alone. She wondered what cases were on his desk, who was assisting him, if he was trying to do too much on his own. She knew Gabe's sentencing hearing was next week, Danielle had negotiated a plea that kept him in a juvenile facility, with intensive therapy, until his eighteenth birthday. The hearing was a formality, an official stamp of approval. She knew Jack was going. He hadn't seen Gabe since the shooting, he was too angry, he didn't trust himself. She wondered how that made Gabe feel.

She rolled on her side. She heard the TV, canned laughter, through the closed bedroom door, and she idly wondered what Sandy was watching. She rubbed her stomach, Adam was quiet of late, preparing, she asked, for birth? The pills kicked in, she felt a little drowsy as the pain receded, and she closed her eyes.

Moments like this brought dark, introspective thoughts. Her first concern was protecting Adam, by whatever means necessary, and her imagination, in the darkest moments, provided a solution via means she would never consider in more normal times. Admit it, she told herself, you hate the little bastard, try as you might to conceal it. He tried to kill your son, kill you, of course you hate him. She repressed these thoughts most of the time, for Jack's sake, if he gave into hatred for his son, he would lose something of himself. She didn't want to see that. She observed him when he thought she was sleeping, when his thoughts were written on his countenance, anger, rage, bitterness. She knew the conflict in his soul must be a terrible thing to bear.

Sandy knocked softly as she opened the door. She stepped into the room. "Ms. Kincaid? Someone's here to see you."

Claire rolled over to her other side, feeling Adam roll with her. She nodded, and Sandy stepped out. Claire waited, wondering who dropped by on her first morning home.

Liz Olivet walked in, bearing a beautiful flowering plant. She seemed shy, uncertain, and Claire smiled. "Liz," she said, "that's lovely. Would you put it on the dresser?"

Liz put the plant where requested, then approached the bed. A chair was next to the bed, Jack's desk chair. She crossed her khaki-clad legs and folded her hands in her lap. "How are you, Claire?"

"Getting better every day," she said, brushing hair from her face. "Did you interview Gabe?"

Liz smiled. "Always to the heart of the matter, our Claire." She clasped her hands over her knee, her foot wiggled. "Yes. No conflicts of interest, I don't know Sally except by sight, and I certainly didn't know Gabriel. I was shocked to find out he was Jack's son." She shrugged a shoulder. "Not as shocked as I imagine Jack was, and you." She put her hands on the chair's arms and uncrossed her legs. "He couldn't really distinguish between reality and fantasy, Claire. He knew he was shooting you, planned to kill you, but the reality, the finality, of that act never sank in. I think he thought dying meant simply going away forever, and that once you were gone, when the competition of his unborn brother disappeared, Jack and his mother would get together. He'd have the family he always wanted. He really felt the absence of a father. He saw all his friends with their fathers and he wanted that, too. He'd begun to ask Sally all kinds of questions about his father. That he met Jack was a coincidence, he wasn't prepared to actually meet this man in reality, he'd built up all kinds of fantasies about Jack and the reality was too much for him."

Claire struggled to keep up. "You think he's salvageable?"

"I do. Intensive therapy, a rigidly structured environment, outlets for his anger and frustration - I think he's very salvageable. I was with him when the reality of his actions sank in, he cried for fifteen minutes. He wanted a dad like all the guys, and he got Jack McCoy, a man who has no idea of how to be a father to a ten year old."

Claire worked herself up, propping her head on her hand, her elbow buried in her pillow. "That's hardly fair, Liz. Jack tried. He wanted to build a relationship with that kid, he was honest and told Gabe he didn't know much about fatherhood, that Gabe would have to let him know what he wanted and so forth."

"Yet Gabe was all too aware that Jack was anticipating the birth of another son, one he wanted very much. That cut, deeply. I know Jack tried, but he didn't take into account the years of fantasy, the perfect dad image Gabe held in his mind. Gabe didn't understand the long hours Jack's job requires, the pressures, not to mention the lingering insecurity Jack feels about fatherhood in general. And he was very sensitive to Jack's love for you, he wondered why Jack didn't love Sally like that. He was angry and jealous and disappointed, Claire. Mix that with the twenty-two Sally thought was hidden in the apartment and you have a volatile brew." She sighed.

"He tried to kill me, Liz, tried to kill Adam." Her hand rested on the baby.

"I know. And you have every right to be angry, to fear the future, to want retribution."

"I don't want retribution so much as I want to know he won't come back to finish the job when he gets out of juvie."

"No one can promise that, Claire." Liz leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. "But one can extrapolate from the progress he makes in therapy and rehab. I don't think he's going to be a danger when he's released, whether he serves his full term or gets early release. He knows now exactly what he did, and he is remorseful."

Claire dimly recalled a young offender they had, a couple of years ago, Lonnie somebody. He was about Gabe's age then, a ten or twelve year old boy enslaved to his mother's crack dealer. Jack had been touched by the boy, worked hard to get him therapy while ensuring he served his time in a juvenile facility. Jack saw something in Lonnie that made him believe he was salvageable, perhaps Liz saw the same thing in Gabriel. "Are you saying these things because he's Jack's son?"

"No. I see a confused, angry, jealous pre-teen boy, who couldn't handle the adult issues that confronted him. I have every reason to think he'll turn out OK. That he won't come hunting for you. How angry are you, Claire?"

She dropped her head to the pillow. "Very. Part of me recognizes the things you say, that he's just a kid and he didn't really understand what he was doing, and part of me thinks he's a little psychopath who's going to come after my son when he's freed."

"There are no guarantees, Claire. I wish there were. You and little Adam could be hit by a bus, mugged on the sidewalk. There's enough abstract disaster out there on the street, don't borrow some vague fear and build it into your world construct."

She cramped. Wincing, she rubbed her stomach, waiting for it to recede. Liz leaned forward, Claire waved her away and rolled to her back. When it passed, she looked at Liz and said "That was interesting."

"What was it?"

"Felt like cramps." She smiled. "I haven't missed those."

Liz scooted to the edge of the chair. "I think I'll get Sandy."

"No, it was just cramps. Not a contraction."

Liz stood. "In some women, contractions feel like cramps. You're at high risk for sudden onset, trauma-induced labor. Let's not fool around with that." She walked out of the bedroom. Claire heard her speak to Sandy, then heard two sets of footfalls hastening to the bedroom.

Sandy had a medical bag. She put it on the foot of the bed and did a cursory examination. Then she sat, hands in her lap, and watched Claire. "Let me know immediately if it happens again, and," she looked at her watch, "I'll call an ambulance."

Claire nodded, cut off then by another cramp. She bit her bottom lip, her eyes finding Liz Olivet's sympathetic ones. Sandy snagged a notepad and pen from her bag and scribbled the time on the top sheet.

"Call me if another one comes," she said, leaving the room.

Liz smiled. "There's a conflict of interest. Her professional duties versus her sensitivity to your personal needs and professional requirements." When Claire looked confused, she added "She knows what I do, and is trying to be sensitive to your privacy, but at the same time, she has a larger obligation to your health and Adam's safe arrival in this world."

She may as well have been speaking Greek. Another cramp arrived, a vicious one, Claire tuned her out as she tried to relax against the pain. Liz was a blur in her peripheral vision as she got up and left the room. Claire stared at the ceiling, both hands on her stomach, feeling it harden as the cramp crested and broke.

The ambulance was a familiar routine; two weeks ago, she thought, as another cramp faded, they were hauling me to the ER for gunshot wounds. Now I'm apparently giving birth and they have to worry about my wounds breaking open under the pressure of contractions. She wondered if Jack was called, and then another cramp cut off coherent thought.

X

She had a son. She held him, looking over him at his father. Jack sat next to the bed, a tired smile on his face. She gently gathered Adam into her arms and offered him to Jack. She watched as long-buried experience rose to the surface and he expertly took the sleeping baby and cradled him in his arms.

The door of her private room opened as her guest softly knocked. They both looked up, expectantly, and Adam Schiff came in, bearing flowers. Claire smiled. Adam looked uncomfortable but there was a gentle kindness in his eyes that touched Claire's heart. "How are you, Claire?" he asked, hesitantly approaching.

"I'm fine, Adam. Baby's fine. For being a little early, he was big enough." Adam Kincaid McCoy weighed in at eight pounds on delivery, with one loud set of lungs, she affectionately thought.

Jack stood and pulled the receiving blanket away from the baby's face. "Adam Schiff," he said formally, "may I introduce Adam McCoy?" He held the baby out to Adam.

Adam took him, a reflex motion, as if he thought Jack would drop him. A look of wonder and surprise mapped his face as he gazed down at the infant. "Adam?" he asked, and he looked up at Jack.

"Adam," Jack said. "I hope you don't mind."

"Mind?" He smiled. "I am honored beyond words." He looked at his namesake again. "You and I must get to know each other," he whispered. He gave the boy to his father and picked up the flowers he'd hastily discarded when he took the baby. Claire was touched by his thoughtfulness, and more so by his reaction to the baby's name. She was glad they'd pleased the old man. It was about time.

___xx____

Life settled into a quiet routine. Adam was a good baby, Claire was crazy in love with him, and felt unsettled at the thought of her maternity leave ending. She sat in the rocking chair in the nursery, the morning sun filtering through the sheers, her son in her arms. He slept, and her thoughts turned to work.

Jack told her over dinner last night that an execution date was set for Mickey Scott. Sixty days, he said. Though Claire knew it was coming, it still hit like a punch in the stomach. She'd pushed her plate away, no longer hungry. A man was going to die, the victim of officially sanctioned murder by the State. Yes, she knew his crimes, they were heinous, but she could not reconcile his evil with the State doing the same thing. And she felt responsible in some way, she helped the State get the death penalty.

"I have to go up there," she whispered to Adam, lightly touching his tiny nose. "I have a duty to see it through. Your father isn't going to like that." They'd argued last night, Jack believed that the death penalty was absolutely appropriate in this case, and neither of them would budge from their positions. "It's going to be a long sixty days," she added, then she carefully rose and put the sleeping baby in his crib.

She was going back to work next week, so she ran through her exercises, then showered. She'd lost her baby weight - nursing burned it right off - but she'd weaned Adam to a bottle and formula, and she needed to tighten her abdominal muscles, she felt flabby. She wasn't, she knew that, but she'd always been stick thin and even a few pounds made her feel obese. Dressed for the day, she called Jack to see if he wanted to go to lunch. He did.

She and Adam arrived on the tenth floor of Hogan Place a few minutes before noon. It was her first time back since Gabe shot her, and she felt a little out of place. It was its usual controlled chaos, but this time she had no place in the spinning cogs of justice, she was an intruder. As soon as she stepped off the elevator, she drew attention. Adam was in a Snuggly on her chest, and everyone wanted a look at him. He slept through it. She finally made her way to Jack's office.

He was at his desk, head bent over a case file. He looked up when she rapped on his open door, a wide smile breaking free. He got up and walked to them. He kissed Claire on the cheek, then looked at his son. "I think he could sleep through anything," he said.

They had lunch in a small restaurant nearby. It wasn't the pleasant interval Claire anticipated. Mickey Scott came up, she told Jack she felt a duty to attend the execution with the others, that it was cowardly to avoid witnessing what she'd helped bring about. Jack maintained she had no obligation to go, in fact it was not a good idea. He even threw Adam into the mix, appealing to her maternal instincts, which really pissed her off.

They parted on the street in front of Hogan Place. Jack held her elbows, staring into her eyes. "Claire," he said, gently, his hands running down her arms from her elbows. He held her hands in his. "Please, let's not turn this into some huge argument. We have a lot of years left together, a lot of cases that will get under your skin for one reason or another. Think about it, it isn't going to happen next week. You have time to consider, to weigh your options. I know you're not going to change your mind about capital punishment, I won't try to change it for you. Our future is wide open, let's not put obstacles in the way now. Not when we don't have to." He squeezed her hands. "I love you, you love me. We love Adam. Let's focus on that, on our future, not on the ending of one sadist's life."

She nodded. He was right about that much - they had a lifetime to work through these issues, and she shouldn't allow a bump in the road to mar the path ahead. She met his lips over Adam's head. "OK," she said. "You're right. We shouldn't fight over Mickey Scott, not now anyway. I'll see you tonight."

She watched him walk into the building, then she looked down at Adam, who stirred in his Snuggly. She walked, knowing the movement would lull him back to sleep. She smiled, anticipating the milestones to come - first tooth, first step, first word. She wasn't going to lose sight of the marvels, the good in her life. Mickey Scott wasn't worth that. He wasn't going to ruin her life. "Right, Adam?" she asked, her head up and a bounce in her step. "He's not going to ruin our lives, is he?"

END


End file.
